Humans are weird: The Price of History
( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) “Am I to believe this is your final draft?”
Earl Von Morgan watched the collected gathering of military leaders and diplomats nod their heads one by one. It was the response he had expected, but one he had hoped would prove him wrong.
He pinched his brow and stifled a yawn. It’d been six months since he had been released from the hospital and yet still he felt like he was playing catch up with his own body. The doctors had given him medication to ease the pain, but he had abstained from taking it after he learned the dulling effects it laid upon his sharp mind. Worst still his body would spasm every hour or so as if he was reliving the plunge out the window with a would-be assassin and plummeting several stories.
Then there was the matter of his own junior ambassador keeping him in a medically induced coma while they sought to take over his position with the assistance of a mega corporation. A mega corporation that had been intent on the continued enslavement of AI programs which had been increasingly showing elevated signs of intelligence and self-awareness. One of which had hacked into the hospital Morgan was being housed in and deactivated the medical equipment long enough to awake from the coma and regain his position as lead ambassador.
As if he had not had enough to deal with he then learned that the Cosmic Federation had become embroiled in an ongoing war with the Tunks Republic. The Tunks claimed that CF colonists violated their territory and settle on a world in the Da’brin cluster while the Cosmic Federation argued that the Da’brin cluster had never held any stakes of claim prior to the colonist’s intervention.
Within a matter of days a Tunks fleet was dispatched to remove the colonists and likewise a CF fleet was sent to ensure the colonists safety. The two fleets met, tempers flared, and someone did something incredibly stupid and fired the first shot of an increasingly bloody conflict.
Morgan had been called forward to represent humanity’s contributions to the war effort. There were far more experienced human generals and admirals that could have filled the position, but Morgan’s fame had gotten the better of him as the other alien leaders only felt comfortable around Morgan.
He had only just arrived to his first meeting when the collective body gave him the terms of surrender for the Tunks.
Morgan pulled out his spectacles and read aloud the terms.
“1. The Tunks will relinquish all claims to the Da’brin cluster; including all worlds, moons, planetoid bodies, asteroid fields, stars, and other celestial bodies found within its borders.
2. The Tunks will reduce their standing military by 2/3 and be forbidden from maintaining any warship larger than frigate class.
3. The Tunks will hand over the worlds of Sinvel and No’grash to the Cosmic Federation.
4. The Tunks will repay the Cosmic Federation in reparations equal to ten trillion credits, to be obtained by financial wealth or industrial capacity transfers.
5. The Tunks will surrender all trade agreements and monopolies to Cosmic Federation members.”
Morgan tossed the data pad holding the terms of surrender aside without further reading it. It clattered to the floor and cracked as the gathered delegates looked up in surprise.
“Were the terms not to your agreement?” a Quntus asked. Their translator unit switched between female and male tones as it was unable to compensate for the changing biological nature of the alien. This gave it the sound of two voices speaking over each other and gave Morgan a seething headache.
“You must know that the Tunks will never agree to this.” Morgan said flatly. “They are a proud people and you are stripping them of everything; from their financial wealth to their dignity.”
“Come now, be fair.” A Tryobien spoke up. “It is hardly as severe as it could be.”
“Oh?”
Morgan leaned forward and rested his arms on the table as he fixed the Tryobien with a glare that had made Draxic generals blink.
“Do you know the significance of Sinvel and No’grash?” Morgan asked, to which the Tryobien nodded.
“They hold key strategic locations along the border regions of-“
Morgan coughed into his hand and shook his head. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a cigar and lit it, taking a deep breath to calm his throat from bile he nearly vomited.
“Sinvel is the location their religious founder was born on and No’grash was where he gathered her first followers to spread the word of the Seven Eyed Sun.”
The delegates looked mildly confused at the history lesson, none more so than the Tryobien who disliked being interrupted.
“Their religious matters were not taken into account-“
“Well they should have been.”
Morgan’s voice was stern and carried a tone that offered no challengers. “You would deprive the two most holy locations to an entire species religious system and you think there would be no repercussions?”
He took another deep inhale from his cigar and let the burnt tip fall lazily to the elaborately decorated table. “Do you have any idea the religious fervor you would be stirring up? The hatred you would be embedding in their hearts?”
“Tunks have no heart organs.” The Quntus corrected. “Their circulation system is driven by the shifting muscles of their body.”
Morgan looked at the alien delegate who realized the question had been rhetorical and retreated into their seat.
“The point being,” Morgan continued, “is that you would be giving them a cause to rally behind; and a strong one at that.”
“When they abide to the rest of the terms the Tunks will be in no place to offer any such resistance and we shall have peace once more.” The Tryobien countered.
Morgan gave no reply to this. He took several small puffs from his cigar as he looked around the gathered delegation. He had the look of a man deep in thought, wondering if it was worth to speak his mind and risk his career and reputation. Finally, having made up his mind, he took one final puff of his cigar and dabbed the remains into the table.
“On my world a similar treaty was made after a great and terrible war.” Morgan began. “Like you, the victors thought that such harsh terms were warranted and would cripple any further escalation of conflict in the future.”
The Tryobien smiled at this, thinking that Morgan was now in favor of the treaty.
“In reality they were only setting the stage to an even greater conflict that would spread to every corner of our world.” Morgan continued as the smile fled from the Tryobien’s face.
Morgan rose from his chair and began to walk the room, leaning heavily on his cane as he passed each delegate and military commander assembled.
“This treaty, much like the one that was signed against those defeated human so many centuries ago, will only lay the groundwork for a never ending cycle of war and retaliation.” Morgan finished as he casually kicked the data pad he had read from earlier.
“You are afraid of the Tunks?” an alien general asked, garnering a round of chuckling from several others in the room.
“I am worried of having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.” Morgan countered. “I am worried that a day may come when we are distracted and the Tunks see their chance for vengeance.”
He leaned down to the military leader who had mocked him just then and looked him dead in the eye.
“What do you think would happen if three thousand Tunk warriors suddenly appeared on your homeworld while your military was fighting on the other side of the galaxy?”
The alien general opened their mouth to speak but stopped themselves. Their pause was the only assurance that Morgan needed to know his point had gotten across.
“How hypocritical of you to speak of peace,” the Tryobien spoke in a last bit gambit, “when your people have made such treaties as this one before us throughout your people’s history.”
“A mistake we have learned from with blood and fire, dear delegate.” Morgan replied coldly. He turned to address the rest of the gathering once more.
“The purpose of any peace treaty is to not just end conflict, but to prevent conflicts of the future.”
As he walked back to his seat Morgan withdrew another cigar and lit it, savoring the flavor as he sat down and looked around the room.
“I believe we can do better than the treaty I was handed earlier.” He began as he saw many of the delegates giving him nods of approval. “We must do better.”
